Regret
by Tamaska Forsaken
Summary: Everyone has regrets... some are just bigger than others. Drabbles.
1. Neville

Greetings.  
I got the idea for a series of drabbles centering around the concept of regret  
as I tried to sleep, so here is the first one.

If I owned it, it would cease to be called fanfiction.

* * *

Neville Longbottom regretted a lot of things.

He regretted being a disappointment to his grandmother. He regretted being a liability to his House. He regretted not living up to his father's legacy.

He regretted that he got to live each day in relative comfort while his parents spent the remainder of their lives in a psych ward, with absolutely no chance of recovery.

He regretted that he'd escaped their fate.

And now, Neville Longbottom resented one thing.

He resented that he'd let himself be dogged down by the antics of the Slytherins, that he didn't fight back when his teachers called him 'slow' behind his back. He regretted that he and Harry, who led a life strikingly parallel to his own, was the Chosen One and that he himself was only Gryffindor's disappointment.

He regretted not being his father's son.

And now, in Hogsmeade, with the woman who tortured his parents on the loose, Neville Longbottom had only one regret.

That he wasn't skilled enough kill her and present her head to his oblivious parents.

* * *

Next one up will probably be Remus. Unless I change my mind.


	2. Remus

As promised, here is dear Remus's regret.  
This one almost hurt to write.

* * *

Remus Lupin clutched his head in his hands and groaned. The dust had barely settled, and already his soul was steeped in regret.

The child had been taken to a place of safety, the Dark Lord was missing in action, two of his best friends were dead, and the other best friend was on his was to Azkaban for murdering them.

He was the last Marauder left. Two were dead, and one had walked away.

A breeze swept up, blowing dust into the werewolf's hair, making him look as though he'd just aged ten years. The moon was swollen like a seven-month belly, making the Wolf stir behind his eyes. There had been blood spilled, the Wolf knew that.

Remus looked up again, his eyes taking in the scene of utter carnage. There were the remains of Baby Harry's crib, and a bottle laid on its side, half-full of milk. One of Lily's jumpers fluttered in the light wind and glass littered the floor of the linoleum, the photo it had covered still in the frame.

Four teenage boys lounged on a couch in a room decorated with reds. They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders, grinning into the camera. But Remus only had eyes for the one with grey eyes.

He regretted trusting that one.

* * *

The next one will probably be Ron.  
Can't really promise about the depth of his regrets, though.  
^_^


	3. Ron

Well met.  
This is the third drabble in the series.  
And if I owned it, it would cease to be fanfiction.

* * *

He looked sadly down at the table and sighed.

The steak stared back at him, taunting him, seducing him with it's charbroiled siren song. He could see the juices pooling at the top, shimmering slightly in the light of the enchanted candles.

Slightly to the right was a baking dish of enchiladas. The cheese was still bubbling on the top and the steam rising from the top was heavenly. Bits of chicken stuck out, speckled with seasonings.

And to the left, a pot of stew simmered over an invisible fire. Thick and hearty, carrots and potatoes winked up at him, bits of barley floated in the broth like students in the lake, and celery gazed imploringly up at him.

He looked at each one for a while, dithering, weighing the unique tastes of each in his mind. He ignored the looks from his best mates and the chatter of the rest of the school, focusing on his task.

They didn't understand how important this was. The steak was a man's dream, the enchiladas were the epitome of comfort foods, and the stew reminded him of his Grandma Prewitt before she died.

And on the first day of term, he was going to enjoy his entree, dammit!

And just as he'd decided on a steak, just as his fork was poised over the most divine piece of charred flesh he'd ever seen, the table cleared itself. A selection of deserts took their place.

His head dropped to his chest in dejection.

Great choices always come with regret...

* * *

I've always thought Ron was simple.  
And I've never understood why Hermione ended up with him. He's an idiot.  
I'm thinking Madam Bellatrix is next.


	4. Bellatrix

Greetings.  
These are dear Bella's regrets, but I'm not really happy with it.  
I've spent a long time trying to fix it, but I can't look at it anymore.

And if I owned it, it would cease to be fanfiction.

_

* * *

_

_She entered the room, her head held high. Her elaborate dress dragged on the floor behind her, and the pressure of eight hundred eyes trained on her made her skin flushed._

_The aisle stretched out before her, framed by pews full of her parents' friends and acquaintances. Two hundred feet of freedom, the last two hundred feet she would walk as a scion of the House of Black._

_Her groom-to-be's family sat on the right, the older brother she never liked leering, the mother with tears streaming down her face at the beauty, the austere father gazing at her impassively._

_Her own family sat on the other side. Her older sister Narcissa and her husband, their fair infant son sitting on her lap, her mother, crying as she watched her last child grow up, and her father, pleased that she was making this excellent match, boosting both her husband's status and his own._

So I'm just a pawn_, she thought moodily, once again training her eyes upon the black-clad figures at the pulpit._

_She made her way along the aisle, two children she didn't know holding the train of her gown, one stray ebony curl tickling her neck, bidding her freedom farewell with each step._

_Rodolfus Lestrange took her hand, kissing the back of it, his eyes raking her dress, and she felt tears of fury prickle her eyes._

So this is the end, _she thought_. I will not submit to you. No, I will not.

* * *

Bellatrix woke up panting. The moonlight shone faintly through the bars over the window, and seagulls went about their business noisily.

Her husband, lecherous sycophant that he was, lounged in his own cell somewhere on the island. She hadn't actually seen him in a number of years, and she could go an eternity without seeing him again.

Their wedding night had been the beginning. They'd been sixteen, and it was the summer before her final year at Hogwarts. Her older sister Andromeda hadn't been there, no doubt uninvited for living her life the way she wanted. She'd felt unbelievably lonely, willingly shackling herself to a man who would land her in Azkaban a mere three years later.

He'd beaten her, bound her magic, violated her upon his whims, and kept her in a state of constant and dangerous ignorance.

The day she found out that she had a niece had been the day she snapped. Nymphadora Tonks had been almost a year and a half old before Bellatrix found out her existence, and Bellatrix had broken her shackles that day.

Her magic newly unbound, she turned on her husband, making him regret wedding a sixteen year old.

She turned on her parents, making them regret selling their youngest child for political advancement.

She turned on her sister Narcissa, for living in marital bliss with her beautiful infant and surprisingly affectionate husband.

And then she turned on her other sister for abandoning her.

They would all regret underestimating Bellatrix Black Lestrange. They would regret it, even if it cost her life.

She would count down the days.

* * *

There you have it. Not happy, but a lack of energy preventing any more revision.  
Haven't decided who's next; any suggestions, review.  
Until next time.


	5. Aberforth

Well met.  
If you've stuck with me thus far, my thanks to you.  
Again, if I owned it, it would cease to be fanfiction.

* * *

Aberforth Dumbledore looked at his older brother's face and gulped. The expression was so reminiscent of their father, still in Azkaban, that he felt younger, as if he'd been caught teasing Arianna.

Albus paced in front of him. The light from the fireplace cast shadows on his nose, still quite crooked from their grave side brawl so many years ago, and his blue eyes flashed.

He was in trouble now. Big trouble, if the quivering mass of fury in front of him was anything to go by.

He glanced at the letter on the table.

_Dear Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore,_

_We have received intelligence that you have been conducting illegal magical experiments on several goats in your Muggle neighborhood._

_As you are no doubt aware, such activities have been outlawed by the International Statute of Secrecy, and that you are in breach of the law._

_Your enhanced goats will be seized by the Misuse of Magic Department at two o'clock PM tomorrow, and you will be escorted back to the Ministry of Magic to attend a hearing, at which time appropriate disciplinary actions will be taken._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk  
__Misuse of Magic Office  
__Ministry of Magic_

Aberforth gulped again.

He'd had no idea that one of his neighbors, a Muggle with a fondness for animals, would see the light from his charms through the window and call Muggle authorities. He'd also had no idea that the charm he was attempting to cast would render the goat mildly intelligent, capable of bleating the various curse words Aberforth had declaimed loudly upon discovery and had developed a fondness for repeating them at the most inopportune moments.

Honestly, he hadn't known.

"Really, Aberforth, goats?" Albus said scathingly, turning to look at him at last. "If you wanted to make a creature intelligent, at least you could have chosen an animal that didn't look out of place in your sitting room. A cat, perhaps, or a bird?"

"Damn finicky cats," he muttered back, thoughts turning to one of his classmates, Minerva St. Peters, who had achieved an Animagus form the year they had graduated from Hogwarts.

"Sorry?" Albus snapped. "Didn't catch that."

"Nothing."

A short pause.

"Merlin, Aberforth, do you regret any of this?" Albus asked incredulously. "Known as the man who charmed _goats_? Do you have any sense of pride?"

The eighteen year old eyed the Transfiguration professor moodily.

"No. I don't regret charming the goats. They've treated me better than you have in years."

The elder brother threw up his hands in disgust and strode out of the sitting room. Aberforth heard the front door slam and sat back in his chair in satisfaction, only a slight stab of regret that he had pushed his brother away tainting his victory.

Albus had only come to attempt damage control. Who knows what would happen to his reputation if it was known that his little brother had practiced illegal charms on a goat? He didn't really care what happened to Aberforth, as long as it didn't interfere with his career. Albus already had the stain of their father's inprisonment in Azkaban, he obviously didn't want to deal with this as well.

He hadn't cared about their sister, either.

Right?

* * *

Ah, the sad story of the Dumbledore family.  
Personally, I think Jo could have written it better, but there's a reason she owns them and I don't.  
I have no clue who to do next.  
Perhaps Blaise?


	6. Blaise

Well met.  
Envy and regret keep the same company, do they not? Ah, poor Blaise.  
As usual, if I owned it, it would cease to be fanfiction.

* * *

Blaise looked at the boy in front of him and sighed sadly.

Not only was his best mate on his way to his death, he looked absolutely amazing as he did it. It wasn't fair.

His bright hair, which had once been gelled into a rock hard plate upon his head, now hung loose, glossy and soft-looking, gently curling at his shoulders. His face had darkened, erasing the bright-eyed-child image forever and making him look like his father, only many years younger.

He was gaunter, his sharp features more eerily feline. His eyes held a new truth, and the shadowy bags under them indicated many hours of contemplation.

He had become beautiful.

But so had Potter.

Potter's eyes, once comparable to the emeralds in the Slytherin hourglass, had darkened too. It looked like a lawn of the greenest grass by starlight. They also held a truth, but it was different from Draco's truth.

Draco was on the inside, shrouded in shadows and only bearing the light of the sun occasionally. otter was on the outside, living a life of laughter and benign mediocrity, with the occasional blanket of dark horror. They looked in on themselves in the mirror.

Both tragic and both beautiful.

It. Wasn't. Fair.

I am nothing to them. My darker skin is imperfect. My bistre eyes don't shine like theirs do. I might have seen as much as Draco, but he's only gotten more beautiful, not frightened like myself. I'm pureblood, but a bastard son of a wealthy Italian pureblood who died a mere month after my birth. My Italian accented English will never hold the same refined dignity as their English.

I am just as much a human as they are, and I'm regretting ever being born, for I am still nothing.

* * *

Ah. Teenage anst. A common theme in fanfic, yeah?  
Anyway, I've got no clue who to do next, I'll think while I'm working.  
Any chance of a review???


	7. Hermione

Well met.  
Hope you're enjoying these so far, they've been fun to write.  
Again, it wouldn't be fanfic if I owned it.  
And if you don't know who owns it, you're a bloody moron.

* * *

Hermione twitched the curtains closed around her four-poster and jabbed her wand at the curtains. The sounds of Lavender and Parvati gossiping loudly immediately ceased, provoking a sigh of relief from her.

Harry had been searching futilely for a date to the Yule Ball for almost three weeks, and it seems that today he'd broken and asked Parvati.

_Only pure desperation could make him ask that cow,_ she thought viciously. _The bint doesn't have two brain cells to rub together..._

Scowling at her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, she glanced at her bedside table. A lovely red rose sat in an elegant vase, on top of a piece of parchment bearing an invitation to the Ball with the only other person in the castle who could rival both Harry's fame and skill on the Quidditch Pitch.

But oddly enough, she almost thought of declining.

Although Viktor was a nice enough bloke, he was also almost four years older, so there was no hope of a physical relationship with him without angering her best mates. And there was also the fact that he hadn't had the ballocks to ask her in person - but on second thought, there were a couple of reasons for that. Her mates, for one, and perhaps he wanted to spare her any of his negative press exposure, and there was also his Headmaster.

She opened her curtains an inch and stuck her hand out. Lavender and Parvati were still shrieking - yet another wince - and she seized the formal invitation. She smiled humorlessly as she took in the expensive creamy parchment and the glittering scarlet ink, written in a sophisticated hand.

_Dearest Ms Granger,_

_I must confess myself enchanted by your presence and amazed by your academic prowess._

_It has come to my attention that you have not yet acquired an escort for the Yule Ball. If such is the case, I would be deeply honored if you would consent to allow me to accompany you._

_I eagerly await your response, and take care until then._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Viktor Krum_

She sighed again. It was refreshing to read something written by another person with words greater than two syllables, but it only highlighted the differences between her and her mates.

She wanted more.

And she just realized what she'd done wrong. She'd established herself as the androgynous bookworm before the boys had figured out she didn't have cooties, and the years since had done little to change it.

Even though she was older than most of their year, they didn't see her as a girl. They saw her as a walking encyclopedia.

She leaned back and stared at the ceiling of her bed in silence. Gradually her mind emptied, her eyes drifting in and out of focus.

And suddenly it came to her.

She would accept Viktor's invitation and go to the Ball with him, she'd make herself look glamourous, she'd be coy.

She'd make her boys - soon to be men - regret not taking her seriously.

If everything went to plan, they'd definitely regret it.

Smiling grimly, she swung her legs over the end of her bed and stood. She pulled her tightest robes from her trunk and shrugged into them, carefully leaving the top two buttons undone. She tugged her hair back out of her face and pulled her skirt up ever so slightly.

And squaring her shoulders, she strode past Lavender and Parvati - who gaped at her - and marched down the staircase, shooting a cool look at Harry and Ron, and climbing out of the portrait hole.

Smirking in satisfaction, she headed off to meet the boy who would destroy her mates' perception of her.

They'd regret it.

* * *

So I totally have no clue who I'm going to do next.  
I was thinking maybe Tom?  
Or Teddy?  
Any feedback? Please?


	8. Teddy

Well met!  
Here's our dear Teddy, and thanks to .AwwLookTheSkyIsCrying. for reviewing!  
It ain't mine... regrettably. Heh.

* * *

Teddy Lupin looked at his reflection in the dark glass and sighed. His face was a perfect blend of his parents; his father's strong jaw contrasted oddly with his bubblegum pink hair, and his mother's nose accentuated his father's hazel eyes.

He glanced across the compartment at Victiore, in her second year, and felt his lips curl up into a fond smile. The little girl had grown up a little bit over the last year, but she still had a child's face and the gawky body of a newborn colt. Her sheet of silky hair hid her vibrant eyes and the small dusting of freckles across her nose made her look even younger.

His smile turned wistful. He couldn't ask for a better godfather than Harry, but he wasn't the same as having parents. Victoire had been greeted with hugs and kisses upon their arrival at King's Cross two months previously, while he had been received with a firm handshake and a smile.

It wasn't the same.

Victoire's parents were war heroes. Just the mention of the names Bill and Fleur Weasley was enough to get her an immediate rise in status among the first years.

He hadn't been as lucky. After attending the sorting with dark green hair and walking into his first lesson with pink hair, people had unconsciously shied away from him. Couple that with his parents' legacies, and the result was instant ostracization.

His father was a werewolf. And despite his status as an Order member and former Marauder, that alone meant he was second class.

His mother was a disowned scion of the Black family and had made herself highly unpopular at school. That alone was all fine and dandy, but she was also the woman to willingly bear the pup of a registered werewolf, even though the Wolf hadn't been passed down to him.

His hair had gradually settled down into a deep teal, which both accented his eyes and emphasized his difference. His hazel eyes held the shadow of his father's Wolf, and his Uncle Harry's legacy of being an orphan.

He sighed again. Victoire had fallen asleep against the cushions of the compartment, and a letter from her parents was clutched in her hand.

She was lucky. Her parents' legacy was honorable. His parents' legacy was of dishonor and bigotry.

She was lucky.

* * *

I'm thinking lovely Tom Riddle is next.  
Gonna have to think about that one, Tommy doesn't seem the type to feel remorse.  
I'm sure it will come to me, though!

^_^


End file.
